


Ocean Soul

by atamascolily



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Force Sex (Star Wars), Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Lucid Dreaming, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22821058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atamascolily/pseuds/atamascolily
Summary: Trapped on theEye of Palpatine, an injured Luke takes Callista up on an offer of comfort. Reality need not apply.
Relationships: Callista Ming/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16
Collections: Luke Deserves All The Blowjobs





	Ocean Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to evilmouse for her encouragement, enthusiasm, and awesome beta to give Luke the experience he deserved. Because we all knew there was more to that one scene in _Children of the Jedi_ than "fade to black," right?
> 
> (Yes, I know, this isn't exactly canon-compliant, but don't think too hard about it, okay?)

"She said 'Luke...' and he brought his face to hers, and kissed her lips." --Barbara Hambly, _Children of the Jedi_

Everything hurt, except for her. Callista was the one bright spark left in the entire universe, and Luke clung to her, unwilling to risk her slipping away from him. Her mouth against his was warm, wet, flowing--just like the Force. She spilled down his throat, infusing his entire being with her presence. 

She drew away for a moment, tilted her head away from his searching mouth. Luke whimpered as the agony in his leg and shoulders flared up again, and he spasmed against her. Even in dreams--if this was a dream--there was no escaping it. It was a good thing they were already sprawled on the floor or else his collapse would have knocked them both over. 

Callista leaned close, her breath tickling his ear. "I can't stop the pain directly, but I'll do what I can. If you want me to." 

He did. He nodded, his mouth dry, unable to speak. 

She lapped at the tender skin behind his ear, hands kneading the sore spot where his neck met his shoulder in exquisite agony. He spasmed again, this time from release of all the pent-up tension, and she chuckled softly as she repeated the maneuver for greater effect. She traced the ragged stubble around his jaw, softening the muscles in her wake with delicate fingers, lightly, lightly--

As if she were a ghost. 

_How is this possible? How--?_ But he didn't want to know. It didn't matter whether it was real or hallucination, it was the only comfort he had in this dark and terrible place--and it had been so long since he'd let himself want anyone like this--

And if had been a long time for him--what about her? Thirty years without a body, a pile of dust and ashes beneath the _Eye's_ computer core? 

He'd never touched a ghost before. Who was to say what was possible and what was not? He'd never tried to embrace his father after death, or struck at Ben in the aftermath of betrayal. It simply hadn't occurred to him to do so. But now, contact with ghosts--however it might be happening--struck him as the most natural thing in the world. 

_Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter,_ Yoda had said once in the swamps of Dagobah, pinching the skin on Luke's aching arms to demonstrate. And Callista was nothing but luminous. Even though his eyes and hands screamed that she was flesh and blood like himself, she gleamed in the darkness behind his eyes whenever he closed them.

"I want--" he started. 

"Sssh," she cut him off. "You're not in any shape for anything so... active right now. Let me handle this." 

They were down on the floor already. All she had to do was roll down his chest, wriggle between his legs, her hands easing away the hodgepodge of vintage Imperial-era tactical gear he'd cobbled together since he'd awoken on the _Eye_. The stormtrooper armor was practically antique, and he suppressed a loud giggle at the thought of some wealthy collector salivating over the battered pieces, as if they were priceless jewels instead of mass-produced form-melded plastoid. 

_What a mess,_ he thought as she peeled the layers from him until he lay exposed from chest down, every bruise and laceration painfully obvious against the pallor of his skin. He was breaking down, falling apart, just like everything else on this ship--coarse and dirty, soaked in his own sweat. Crude matter, indeed. Only Callista was impervious to the inevitable degeneration around them--endlessly young, unstained by the depravities of the world by the nature of her spirit. 

He caught a glimpse of her face in the red ragged beams of the emergency lights, frozen in perfection, and he realized with a jolt there was a price to pay for that, too. 

What was a little dust and dirt compared to the vast experience of being _alive_? It didn't matter how terrible he looked; it was the slick and mess of life that she craved right now—just as he did. _Life calling to life--_

_How is this *real*--?_

It was a stupid question. Reality wasn't solid and stable, it was fluid, shifting, restless, elusive--just like the Force. The whole of it was too big, too slippery, for a single mind to grasp. It was what you made of it that mattered. All he could do was make himself permeable to it as it happened, let it pour through him like a sieve, instead of struggling to pin down and define it. Right now, this _was_ real, and that was all that mattered. 

Right now, it was a relief to stop fighting, to surrender to her ministrations. Let her fingers trace spirals against his stomach, her breath hot against the inside of his thighs. 

Luke was no longer pressed against the cold barren corridor . He floated naked on his back in a vast and tranquil ocean, staring up at the shining arm of the galaxy in the cloudless night above. Were those silken strands touching his bare skin the caress of a thousand sea grasses, or was it Callista’s hair cascading over him as she bent to her work? Was it the waves that rocked him back and forth, or was it _her_\--

"Ah," Callista said. "_Here_."

How was she still speaking? He knew for a fact her mouth was occupied, too full of _him_ for any coherent speech. He gasped, arching back as she sucked him as if she were a gourmand intent on wringing every last drop of flavor from him. Even when she dragged him against the edge of her teeth, there was no ferocity to it, only thoroughness, a level of attention that no one had ever focused on him before. Her intense concentration, her awareness of every twitch and stroke and their effects, were as intoxicating as the movements themselves. 

She didn't have to do this. She didn't even have to touch him to have this effect on him. But here she was, and he was grateful for it, even though he didn't understand what was happening or why. 

Above him in the corridor--no, the endless expanse of ocean--the stars trailed thick and bright, too close to each other to pick out as anything more than a glowing smear. The starlight reflected off the ocean around him, the identical halves of his universe converging at the horizon's edge in infinite mirrors. 

A playful hand on Luke’s shoulder pushed him down into the water, dunking him in the sea. He reached out to grab Callista as she darted away, and missed, and she laughed at her escape. He plunged after her, all tranquility forgotten in the lust of pursuit, his body lithe and strong and buoyed by the water. 

Callista was fast, but he was faster, and he knew from the way she swam that she wanted him to catch her--that, indeed, it was the entire point of the game. She zigzagged her way through the kelp forests, the thick green stalks of algae wrapping around her naked body, momentarily obscuring her from his sight before she wriggled free again, and the chase continued. 

She made for a rock jutting out of the water, and hoisted herself up, spraying water in every direction. Luke pulled himself up after, and fell on her with a triumphant growl, pushing her back against the coarse stone, and pressing himself against her in a silent demand of surrender. Connected as they were, he felt more than heard her laughter, and she opened her mouth and legs to him in one fluid motion. 

Luke pressed down hard, as if he were diving back into the ocean once more. His hands snaked between her legs as he pinned her at those two exquisitely sensitive points. Callista pulsed against him like a wave pulling back from the shore, eager for more, adding her thrusts to his own. 

But he wasn't going to make it that easy. He slowed his pace, let his mouth drop from hers and trail down her body, kissing away the seawater, and savoring every agonizing moan. Only after Callista begged and pleaded for him to keep going did he spread her legs fully, and lap at her. She was salty as kelp, as the sea, his world simultaneously narrowed and expanded as boundaries dissolved away. Everything he did to _her_ mirrored back at him, spiraling, building--

Except now their positions were reversed again, and he was the one gasping in short, shallow pants, a wave approaching the distant shoreline shore, heading for the inevitable collision. He barely had time to acknowledge the shift before the wave crested and flung him head over heels under the water, burning, dissolving and melting away in a roil of pressure and sea foam. He _was_ the wave, he was the shore, he was Luke; too much sensation all at once for him to process--

And back in the corridor, he rocked into Callista, spilling into her mouth in short, jagged bursts, as the wave dissolved, tossing him onto the sandy beach under the star-lit sky. He might have cried out her name--or perhaps it started out that way, only to be hijacked by his gasps as his body collapsed limp and boneless like the sea-wracked kelp lingering in Luke’s peripheral vision. 

For a long time, warmth and silence prevailed, his body diffused across space and time. He was profoundly present, and yet not here at all--just like she was--and there was no need to fix or change anything. 

Was that his heartbeat, or was that the echo of waves that woke him? Or the sound of air moving through the _Eye's_ ventilation shafts? He didn't know, and it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she was pressed up against him, soft and flushed and fuzzy in his vision. And the pain in his leg was a dull echo, a distant memory, a vague shadow in the distance--hardly worth his attention. 

"Luke?" Callista said at last, stirring against him, and pulling his head into her lap as she sat up. She stroked his hair with the same delicate tenderness as before, though not enough to overload his pleasantly frazzled nerves.

"Callista," he said--a prayer, a benediction, a reckoning. 

"You taste like home," she said softly, and bent to kiss him, feather-light, a moon-winged moth brushing against his lips. For a moment, he could taste the salt on her mouth--or was it the ocean he tasted instead?--and before she withdrew and the sensation was gone. 

"That was amazing," he said haltingly, gradually remembering how to speak in coherent sentences. 

"Hormones," Callista said matter-of-factly. "The human body releases them after orgasm so you're more likely to repeat the experience. Useful trick. How's your leg?" 

"Fine." More than fine, really. For a few minutes there, he'd almost forgotten he _had_ legs. 

"Good. There are also some natural opiods in the mix that will dull the pain. Orgasm isn't the only way to release them, but it's one of the easiest and most effective." 

"You've done this before?" Jealousy flared, irrational as it was. Of course she'd done this before. She was too casual, too skilled, for this to be the first time. 

"Of course." She didn't move, but he could feel her withdraw from him, ever so slightly, and he didn't like it. 

Luke took a deep breath, and let the jealousy seep away, though it wasn’t easy. That part of her past was decades behind them, and so were any partners, and he wasn’t going to let their echoes mar the present any further. There was enough pain as it was.

"Was that--" he started to say. 

"Real, what we did? Yes, from a certain point of view." She busied herself with running her fingers through his hair, smoothing out the stubble on his jaw. "That was Chad, where I grew up. I miss it." 

"Yes." Callista’s grief at her own lost homeland mirrored his own, and he blinked back tears. It was a long time before he could speak again. 

"I've never had sex with another Jedi before," Luke said at last. "Is it always like this?" 

"There's a lot of things you can do. We just scratched the surface." She was playful again, but there was a hint of wistfulness in her voice he wasn't sure how to parse. 

"I want to try them all with you." It was not the time and place to discuss the future, but he didn't care. "I want you to teach me everything you know. About the old Jedi. And sex." 

Callista laughed. "Sometimes they're the same thing. And sometimes not. As my old master used to say, it's amazing how many problems you can solve--or cause--with sex" 

Luke stared. "No way," he said at last. "You're pulling my leg." 

"Wanna bet?" She made a seductive but crude gesture with her fingers. 

He thought about what had just happened between them, and shelved his skepticism. "Against you? Never. But this is so--private. So _personal_. I don't see how your master could have taught you this." 

"Oh, you know." She waved a hand. "Several thousand years ago, an intense and very thorough special collective of Jedi labored for decades on a thousand-page manual known only as _The Training of a Jedi_ on this very subject. Geith and I started working on the partnered sutras together a few years after I began studying with Master Altis." 

Callista’s voice remained even, but she trembled against Luke ever so slightly at the mention of the lover who had abandoned her to die on the _Eye of Palpatine_ decades earlier. After a moment, she mastered herself, and continued. 

"Geith wasn't the only one I ever practiced with, but Master Altis thought his students would go deeper into the mysteries if they worked with only one partner for many years, rather than the more passing relationships typical in the main Jedi order. They thought it promoted unhealthy _attachments_." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "But it doesn't always have to be like that. Master Altis said that _healthy_ attachments were one of the greatest joys of this life--" 

He kept waiting for her to break down and admit it was all a joke at his expense, but she was serious. And it made sense in its own way, once he thought about it. The Force was entwined--inseparable, really--with life and death? What was the point in keeping sex out of the mix--assuming that was something you could do in the first place? 

Okay, fair enough. But _that_ particular topic hadn't been something Luke had ever wanted to discuss with Yoda. Or Ben, though it would have been slightly less mortifying with Ben, who was at least the same species. 

"I always knew there were gaps in my education, but in this case, I wouldn't mind getting more lessons. But I don't think that's something I'd be comfortable teaching my students," he added, after a moment's reflection. 

"What, you're not interested in starting your own private sex cult?" Callista teased. 

Luke smiled, but there was pain mixed in with amusement. He knew what people whispered about him, and the rumors had only gotten worse when attractive women like Cray came to the Academy on Yavin for instruction. The rumors were especially vicious with Cray--in spite of, or perhaps because of, her fiancé’s tragic illness. 

"I'm sure all your students have a crush on you, even if they don't admit it," Callista added with a knowing leer. "I would if I were in their boots, limbs, paws, or otherwise supportive pseudopodia." 

He glowed at that admission, though it wasn't _quite_ the declaration he'd been hoping from her. "Maybe. But I think that's mostly projection. They're in love with the _idea_ of me, with what I represent--not who I really am." He gestured to his injured leg, to the sad trappings of armor scattered around them. "And I certainly don't cut a very impressive figure right now." 

"I beg to differ," Callista said, unable to hide the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. "You're a very cunning linguist. Just like your protocol droid, who's been wondering what you've been up to for the last few hours--" 

Threepio. The thought of the golden droid brought him up short, as he remembered where he was and why, and he shuddered. As if to emphasize the point, his injured leg throbbed, faint but ominous on the edge of his consciousness.

"Callista, if this is a dream, I don't want to wake up," he said. 

She sighed. "I know. So much of my old life has become a dream to me now, too. When you don't sleep, it's hard to know the difference..." 

He eased himself up carefully on his elbows and kissed her. "It doesn't matter," he said. "We'll find a way to make it work. To get everybody safely off this ship and then destroy it. Callista, I--" 

_Love you_, he wanted to say. Was it too early to admit that? _Or is it already too late?_ he thought in sudden panic. 

She saw his struggle in his eyes, and turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "Those are the hormones talking, Luke. Their job is to make you devoted to me so I'll make you feel good again. It’s a side effect of the painkillers. You can't take those feelings too seriously." 

"Can't I?" He wanted to take her in his arms, do to her what she'd done to him back in the dream. Make her feel--what he felt, all of it, joy and sorrow and love all tangled up together in a writhing mass in his chest. But he didn't know how to reach her. 

"I know," Callista said, digging around for his clothes. "Come on. I sent a message to your droid that you're up here. Let's get you presentable before he arrives."


End file.
